03-27-2014, 03:15 PM
Sunday’s events had made me a bit cranky about being on time for Monday’s tour to Bethlehem, so I made sure Cindi was going to be on time for our departure.
Originally, when I had first looked at the distance from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, I figured we should walk, since the check point at the barrier was only a couple of kilometers away. We even would take the same road on which our hotel was located. What could be simpler?
Although physically close, Jerusalem and Bethlehem are worlds apart. Bethlehem resides in Palestinian controlled territory. For security reasons, Israel has erected a giant concrete security barrier with only a few tightly controlled checkpoints between the two zones.
There was also the question of time to make the walk. I decided it would be better using that time eating breakfast rather than walking. Still, I put my grumpy face on and made sure we were in the Saddam’s Taxi by 8:40.
Seeing the giant grey wall between you and your destination was a little off-putting. Walking through the steel barred security corridor wasn’t any fun either. Even though we we were waved through by security guards, it still felt like I was entering a prison I might not be able to leave.
As soon as we exited the passageway on the Bethlehem side, we were approached by six or seven Palestinian Taxi drivers, all asking if we wanted a tour of Bethlehem. Even me telling them that I had already booked a tour didn’t dissuade them. They wanted to know which tour and where was I going to meet them and who was the guide.
To see all those guys approaching us was a bit scary for me. The only pictures I had seen of Palestinians were them yelling Death to America while stomping on a burning American flag. What if this were their chance to put that into practice? It is one thing to intellectualize that we are all just people, it’s another thing to have the lizard part of your brain struggle to put you into flight mode.
One older driver, Khalid said he knew the company and the tour operator and would call them him to tell we had arrived. Because of my punctilious, Cindi and I had twenty five minutes to wait with our new Palestinian pals before our tour guide was to show.
Khalid brought us off to the side of the road onto the sidewalk and told us to sit and wait. I’d seen too many bad movies were this is the beginning of the end for the hapless tourists. But we sat on the concrete ridge next to the sidewalk, our backs against the chain link fence. The coffee seller continued to pressure us to have something to drink while we waited. Again, was it just courtesy or were they trying to trick us in some way?
Stupid me, I brought out the camera to take a quick snap of the graffiti on the partition wall in front of us. Khalid saw the Nikon and wanted to know how much did the camera cost. Despite strong misgivings and thoughts of a dead camera-free tourist in the gutter, I told him. My paranoia went up another notch when Khalid wanted to know the price of the lens as well.
It was good and bad, after ten minutes, when Khalid went back to his taxi. Good that he was leaving us alone. Bad, our only contact was leaving us. The other drivers had likewise decided to find other pursuits than talking to the tourists in their midsts. It was a little better but we were still stuck waiting for our guide.
Across from us you could see a Banksy graffiti on the wall: giant scissors cutting along a dotted line in the partition wall as if to make an opening. Most of the lower section was covered by other graffiti but you could still see the scissors and a section of the dotted line.
I found Yamen Elabed on line through Murad tours. I chose him because he was one of the few tours I could find. Plus, the price of $70 per person was fixed no matter how large or small the size of the tour. We were also promised air-conditioned comfort in his Mercedes Limousine.
I was bit disconcerted when he showed up and walked us to what looked like a Ford Festiva. Where was the Limo or the big van that I saw in the ads? Yamen explained this was his Father’s car and his Dad had the Mercedes. He reasoned since there was only two of us on the tour, it didn’t make sense to bring the big car.
The tone for the day was set as Yamen detailed the difficulties of the situation in the West Bank for Palestinians. In particular he told about his wife having to wait for six hours to cross over from Jordan despite traveling on a Canadian passport. The Israelis would have preferred she return to Canada rather than letting her in. The trouble in the West Bank was our main talking point for the rest of the day.
Our first stop, after a quick peak at some inspired graffiti on the partition wall, was amazing if it is true. We stopped at the antiquities shop of the Grandson of Khalil Eskander Shahin or Kando. Kando was the original purchaser of the Dead Sea Scrolls from the Bedouin goatherd who found the scrolls at Qumrun. Kando had kept one of the urns that held the scrolls to display in the store. We got a chance to see it along with a bunch of other antiquities like Widow’s Mites coins and Roman swords all dating from the first century AD. Now, everything I had read said most of the antiquities offered up for sale are fakes so I took the display with a grain of salt. But further research showed the claims might be true.
After that, Yamen dumped us out of the car at the Partition wall and told us he would meet us up around the corner ostensibly to give us a chance to admire all the graffiti. Here’s the thing, in my neighborhood graffiti is a blight that I want to get rid of so the opportunity to admire it wasn’t something I sought. Plus, you are leaving Cindi and I on our own to walk through a potentially dangerous area feet from a symbol of everything wrong with the Palestinian-Israeli relations. That doesn’t sound like a Honeymoon Idyll.
Another problem, most of the famous Graffiti from Banksy and other Artists who have come to leave their designs has been marred by other Graffiti, which only makes sense. If I was a local tagger I would put my mark on famous works to get my tag noticed.
Also on the wall are large posters full of stories from the locals about how the Partition Wall impacts their life. The whole walk was very depressing. Before we walked, Yamen even showed us one house where the upper floors had been blocked off because they were higher than the surrounding wall. The Israeli forces didn’t want Palestinians being able to get over the wall from that house so they were relegated to only using the first floor.
Our walk along the wall ended up surprisingly enough at Yamen’s father’s gift shop. What a tremendous coincidence. His Father’s shop was also right next door to the Banksy shop. The Banksy Shop and the Father’s shop both sell reproductions of Banksy’s famous Partition wall graffiti, many of which are in the process of disappearing from the walls, covered over by other graffiti.
Fun Banksy fact, he didn’t come and do his own graffiti. He merely made the stencils and then sent a team in to do the actual painting. Yamen led the group that did the actually painting on the partition walls. He also showed us his own recreation of the girl with the balloons that he painted on the wall. He offered us a chance to do our own graffiti on the wall. We passed. See notes above about my feelings on graffiti.
It was also interesting to note the area for us to tag had been freshly whitewashed. No doubt the previous group solidarity tags had been painted over so the next group of tourists would have a fresh spot. If we did tag, I felt they wouldn’t be up for long as they were white washed to make way for the next taggers.
Cindi and I drank mint tea prepared by Yamen’s dad, mint procured from a neighboring field. I got a look at the Merecedes Limo, too. Seeing all the dents and dings and bad repair job, I felt fine driving in the Festiva.
Our next tourist stop on our journey through Bethlehem was the Aida Refugee camp. The Aida Camp was a temporary camp built by the UN to house displaced people following the Israeli War for Independence. Most of the residents thought that everything would be straightened out shortly and they would soon be back in their homes. That was over sixty years ago.
Which is why my image of the camp didn’t match the reality. When I think refugee camp, I think acres of tents crowded with humanity. But the reality of the Aida Camp is a poorly constructed town full of narrow alleyways and jury-rigged municipal services. Water pipes are garden hoses run down the sides of buildings. To get the water to flow you turn on an external motor that sits in the alley.
Originally intended to hold 600 refugees, Aida is now home to almost 5000 people in under 4 tenths of a square mile.
While we there, we got to see construction workers adding a third story to one of the small building. I was pretty sure these building weren’t up to earthquake standards. Yamen told us most of the services provided in the camp are done by the residents. Some of the buildings have small shops. We saw one were antique keys from the people’s homes were for sale. There is also a giant keyhole gate with a key atop it that stands as a symbol for the residents dream of one day returning to their original homes.
There are views of the partition wall everywhere in the camp. At one, piles of garbage butt up against the mural covered concrete wall. We passed a charred observation tower that is under constant assault from the Boy’s school’s nearby. Bullet holes in the gate to the school gives testament to how the Israeli army responds to the rock throwing.
I couldn’t leave the camp quickly enough.
After three hours of touring around Bethlehem and hearing about the Palestinians struggle against Israel, we finally made it to Manger Square, across from the Church of the Nativity.
Before Yamen took us to the church, he felt compelled to take us to the local market in the other direction from the church. He reasoned that tour buses never let their tourists cargos come to this section. Along the way, he showed us maps that showed the gradual reduction in Palestinian controlled land. The map showed a predominately green West bank gradually dwindling to a few green isolated squares.
Yamen handed us off to Ambro for the actual tour of the Church of the Nativity. Yamen couldn’t do the tour because he didn’t have the right credentials or something. He would wait for us at our lunch destination which was just off the square. He figured we would only need thirty minutes to get through the church. When I gave him an uncomprehending look he gave us ten more minutes for our tour.
So, Yamen expected us to go through one of the most famous traditional churches in Christendom, the supposed birthplace of God, in just thirty minutes? I don’t think so.
Cindi and I went with Ambro, who was still smoking his cigarette when we were being introduced. Fortunately, he snubbed it out quickly. With Ambro was his friend Vladimir. Why Vladimir was with us I didn’t understand. Later, I was very glad he was with us.
Vladimir was full of knowledge I half heard, being too busy taking pictures. He talked about the half height door we had to duck under to gain entrance to the church.
The Church itself is in full preservation mode. Scaffolding stands all along the nave in order to do work on the wooden ceiling., The limestone columns have been wrapped in plastic to protect them.
Huge panels in the floor sat open to reveal the covered mosaic floor dating from the 4th century when the church was first built. In one opening, you can see the backward Swastika that come from India. Another shows what is possibly the first representation of the Jerusalem Cross.
The altar is a baroque explosion, much loved by the Greek Orthodox Church. Like many churches in the Holy Land, control of the church is under the contentious directions of several religions. In the case of the Church of the Nativity, it’s the Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Armenian Churches who fight for dominance. The altar area has a strong Greek Orthodox feel to it.
Given the chance, Ambro would have told us what every panel over the altar meant. I did process the fact that one picture showed St. Nicholas which makes a lot of sense. Although I didn’t get a good explanation why there was an icon of the illuminati symbol for the all seeing eye at the top in the center of the decorative wall.
One of things I learnt was that in Biblical times, manger didn’t mean wooden structure for horses but probably cave for animal storage. So, the manger where Jesus was born is a cave over which the Church of the Nativity was constructed. It lies underneath the main altar and you can access it from either side.
If you are in large group, you enter from the right. If you are hanging out with Ambro and Vladimir who know the security personal giving access to the manger, you sneak down between large group entrances on the left side. I didn’t realize this until we were standing pretty much alone before the silver star that marks the place in the floor where Jesus was born.
I was snapping away when I noticed Vladimir conferring with the guard. They were holding the next group back so I could photograph unobstructed. Another mystery was why Ambro couldn’t join us underground. But I’ve resolved to take those two guides with me from now on.
Our guides took us next door to the relatively modern church of St. Catherine. We were in a holding pattern while waiting for a group to exit the grotto underneath that Church and hold their services. Vladimir and Ambro arranged with the guard for us to wait. He would let us downstairs during a brief interlude between the mass upstairs and the church closing for the day. Once again thank you guides and your connections.
Underneath the Church of St. Catherine is the cave where St. Jerome spent thirty some years. His big claim to fame was his translation of the bible into Latin known as the Vulgate. He is the patron saint of Encyclopedias. In his little cave still stands the steep narrow staircase he used to access the cave. In the walls, you can see carvings the Crusaders left behind.
Lunch is the time, I believe Yamen lost interest in guiding us and we lost interest in him taking us around Bethlehem. It was like a blind date when you both knew it wasn’t going to work out, but you continued on the date none the less.
Yamen had decided to order for us at his restaurant off manger square to save time. For me, that is a big mistake because I am a very finicky eater. He had mentioned the lamb-beef burgers when Cindi and I had departed with Ambro, but I thought I was going to at least look at the menu before we ordered.
But while we sat there and Yamen had a smoke outside, the food arrived, complete with things I didn’t want on it. So, we got to do the dance about getting the food reordered. Cindi got a strange chicken dish on a bed of onions atop flat bread. It didn’t suit her pallet either.
After lunch we headed to the Milk Grotto. Supposedly drops of the Virgin Mary’s breast milk fell to the floor while she was feeding Jesus causing all the rocks to turn white. People from around the world chip off the white stone and use it for miracle cures. The walls of the office are covered with the letters from people who have experienced the miracle. The chips of the milk are supposed to cure infertility.
While I stopped to take pictures, Cindi and Yamen went ahead. I didn’t see which way they went and got lost trying to find them. When I did find the right grotto, I was underwhelmed by the appearance. The walls didn’t look like natural white stone, merely that they had been whitewashed.
Since we were running out of time on our tour, Yamen gave us three options for the afternoon and we could make two of them. We could go to Mar Saba, Shepherd’s Field or Herodian. I knew we had to go to Mar Saba and the field didn’t sound too interesting so we went to Herodian.
Although we were just going to make a pitstop at Herodian because there wouldn’t be enough time to actually climb it and see Herod’s tomb.
Along the way to Herodian, we talked more about the disconnect between the Palestinians and the Israelis. Yamen pointed out Westbank Settlements that were built illegally inside the 1968 Greenline according to the Oslo accords. You can tell they are Israeli settlements because they don’t have watertanks on their roofs. Israelis get all the water they want while Palestinians have to fill water tanks on their roofs when they get the chance.
He also showed us the square concrete blocks that are the boundary markers that show the line between Israeli and Palestinian controlled zones. Yamen contends the Israeli come in and move the blocks effectively shrinking the Palestinian zones.
We passed roads that only Israelis can use and that bypass the Partition Wall checkpoints. Signs show it is illegal for Israelis to be in some areas. Driving through such contested areas made for a depressing journey.
The trip to Herod’s mountain, Herodian, was short and sweet. Basically, we got out of the car and looked up the mountain. A security guard manning the park yelled at us to move our car. We’ll put on the last of things to go back to see.
Along the way to the monastery at Mar Saba, we stopped for coffee at a road side vendor. Yamen had been threatening to do this the entire day despite our repeated assertions we don’t like coffee. He thought the cardamon they added would make it taste better for our unrefined pallets. It still has coffee in it, right? Then why do you want me to try it?
But I did try it and guess what? It did not convert me.
The entire day remained gloomy as winds blue dust from the Sahara over us to create a grey fog. The gorges around Mar Saba would probably be gorgeous under a bright blue sky, but for us they were just muted brown hills with water from the waste treatment plant running along the bottom.
Mar Saba looked pretty clinging to the cliff edge but we couldn’t get close to it because the monks don’t like visitors, especially if they are female.
A day that had started with great promise viewing millennia old stone jars ended driving back to the partition barrier gate through trash strewn streets.
Now, I’ve been pretty hard on Yamen, but other reviewers of his tours really like him. I’m sure if you had a particular mind set about learning more of the conflict, he would be your guide. But our aim first was to take pictures of interesting things and learn about the Holy Sites in Bethlehem.
I didn’t mind hearing about the conflict from his point of view when we first started, but towards the end I was tired of it and wished we could talk about something else.
Plus, the tour seemed to just be Yamen driving around pursuing his own pleasures. We visited his Dad and got coffee. We had lunch at his restaurant. He talked a lot on the phone setting up other tours. He took smoke breaks guised as points for us to look around. Towards the end he turned on the radio so he could listen to has arab pop songs. And we had another coffee break, so he could get that fix, too. He didn’t seem to focused on what his paying customers would have enjoyed.
In the end, we walked the lengthy barred corridor back through the Partition barrier. Fortunately, it was an easy prison to leave from if you have the right passport. We only had to wait a few minutes to get us a Taxi back to our hotel. Things seemed so much nicer on this side of the wall.
One of the quirks of timing was that Purim and St. Patrick’s day coincided during our tour of Israel. We celebrated Purim the night before so it seemed natural that we should find a pub for St. Patrick’s day. And if you don’t think there would be an Irish Pub in Jerusalem, you are sadly mistaken.
The trek from the YMCA took longer than expected because my map and reality still were in disagreement. We walked up and down the street many times where the pub was supposed to be located but couldn’t find the address number listed for Dublin’s pub. We went in search of another restaurant.
On Ben Yehuda street, one block over from the mysteriously missing Dublin Pub, Purim revelry was still in effect although it was two hours passed sundown when Purim should have ended. People were still in costume and still drunk in the streets performing strange dances.
As we headed for home without finding a nice place to eat, I spotted our destination down a small alley. The place looked closed and the one door was locked. But Irish music blared from a speaker. I figured it must be open somewhere. I asked a guy sitting in a tent near another door. He turned out to be the bouncer and security for Dublin’s. I was searched for weapons and then we were allowed in.
Inside, it looked very pub like right down to the 1980’s cloud of cigarette smoke. If you have guessed my major problem with Israel is smoking, you are correct. What can I say, I’m from California and no one there smokes under pain of death. Even in Ireland they have banned smoking in pubs which I was sure would cause riots.
Although it looked like a pub, it didn’t really have Irish Pub food which was disappointing. Instead they had bad fried American bar food. There were nachos, buffalo wings and chicken crispers. Since it was St. Pats, they had drink specials. If you had a liter of beer and a shot, you could get a free St. Patricks Hat. I don’t drink and Cindi barely gets through a glass of wine nowadays so the light-weights were out of that giveaway.
We called it an early night since we had to get up really early for the Sunrise hike at Masada. We made it back to the Hotel faster than the journey out as the Giant Phallic tower that is the YMCA makes an easy landmark to spot against the Jerusalem skyline.
Originally, when I had first looked at the distance from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, I figured we should walk, since the check point at the barrier was only a couple of kilometers away. We even would take the same road on which our hotel was located. What could be simpler?
Although physically close, Jerusalem and Bethlehem are worlds apart. Bethlehem resides in Palestinian controlled territory. For security reasons, Israel has erected a giant concrete security barrier with only a few tightly controlled checkpoints between the two zones.
There was also the question of time to make the walk. I decided it would be better using that time eating breakfast rather than walking. Still, I put my grumpy face on and made sure we were in the Saddam’s Taxi by 8:40.
Seeing the giant grey wall between you and your destination was a little off-putting. Walking through the steel barred security corridor wasn’t any fun either. Even though we we were waved through by security guards, it still felt like I was entering a prison I might not be able to leave.
As soon as we exited the passageway on the Bethlehem side, we were approached by six or seven Palestinian Taxi drivers, all asking if we wanted a tour of Bethlehem. Even me telling them that I had already booked a tour didn’t dissuade them. They wanted to know which tour and where was I going to meet them and who was the guide.
To see all those guys approaching us was a bit scary for me. The only pictures I had seen of Palestinians were them yelling Death to America while stomping on a burning American flag. What if this were their chance to put that into practice? It is one thing to intellectualize that we are all just people, it’s another thing to have the lizard part of your brain struggle to put you into flight mode.
One older driver, Khalid said he knew the company and the tour operator and would call them him to tell we had arrived. Because of my punctilious, Cindi and I had twenty five minutes to wait with our new Palestinian pals before our tour guide was to show.
Khalid brought us off to the side of the road onto the sidewalk and told us to sit and wait. I’d seen too many bad movies were this is the beginning of the end for the hapless tourists. But we sat on the concrete ridge next to the sidewalk, our backs against the chain link fence. The coffee seller continued to pressure us to have something to drink while we waited. Again, was it just courtesy or were they trying to trick us in some way?
Stupid me, I brought out the camera to take a quick snap of the graffiti on the partition wall in front of us. Khalid saw the Nikon and wanted to know how much did the camera cost. Despite strong misgivings and thoughts of a dead camera-free tourist in the gutter, I told him. My paranoia went up another notch when Khalid wanted to know the price of the lens as well.
It was good and bad, after ten minutes, when Khalid went back to his taxi. Good that he was leaving us alone. Bad, our only contact was leaving us. The other drivers had likewise decided to find other pursuits than talking to the tourists in their midsts. It was a little better but we were still stuck waiting for our guide.
Across from us you could see a Banksy graffiti on the wall: giant scissors cutting along a dotted line in the partition wall as if to make an opening. Most of the lower section was covered by other graffiti but you could still see the scissors and a section of the dotted line.
I found Yamen Elabed on line through Murad tours. I chose him because he was one of the few tours I could find. Plus, the price of $70 per person was fixed no matter how large or small the size of the tour. We were also promised air-conditioned comfort in his Mercedes Limousine.
I was bit disconcerted when he showed up and walked us to what looked like a Ford Festiva. Where was the Limo or the big van that I saw in the ads? Yamen explained this was his Father’s car and his Dad had the Mercedes. He reasoned since there was only two of us on the tour, it didn’t make sense to bring the big car.
The tone for the day was set as Yamen detailed the difficulties of the situation in the West Bank for Palestinians. In particular he told about his wife having to wait for six hours to cross over from Jordan despite traveling on a Canadian passport. The Israelis would have preferred she return to Canada rather than letting her in. The trouble in the West Bank was our main talking point for the rest of the day.
Our first stop, after a quick peak at some inspired graffiti on the partition wall, was amazing if it is true. We stopped at the antiquities shop of the Grandson of Khalil Eskander Shahin or Kando. Kando was the original purchaser of the Dead Sea Scrolls from the Bedouin goatherd who found the scrolls at Qumrun. Kando had kept one of the urns that held the scrolls to display in the store. We got a chance to see it along with a bunch of other antiquities like Widow’s Mites coins and Roman swords all dating from the first century AD. Now, everything I had read said most of the antiquities offered up for sale are fakes so I took the display with a grain of salt. But further research showed the claims might be true.
After that, Yamen dumped us out of the car at the Partition wall and told us he would meet us up around the corner ostensibly to give us a chance to admire all the graffiti. Here’s the thing, in my neighborhood graffiti is a blight that I want to get rid of so the opportunity to admire it wasn’t something I sought. Plus, you are leaving Cindi and I on our own to walk through a potentially dangerous area feet from a symbol of everything wrong with the Palestinian-Israeli relations. That doesn’t sound like a Honeymoon Idyll.
Another problem, most of the famous Graffiti from Banksy and other Artists who have come to leave their designs has been marred by other Graffiti, which only makes sense. If I was a local tagger I would put my mark on famous works to get my tag noticed.
Also on the wall are large posters full of stories from the locals about how the Partition Wall impacts their life. The whole walk was very depressing. Before we walked, Yamen even showed us one house where the upper floors had been blocked off because they were higher than the surrounding wall. The Israeli forces didn’t want Palestinians being able to get over the wall from that house so they were relegated to only using the first floor.
Our walk along the wall ended up surprisingly enough at Yamen’s father’s gift shop. What a tremendous coincidence. His Father’s shop was also right next door to the Banksy shop. The Banksy Shop and the Father’s shop both sell reproductions of Banksy’s famous Partition wall graffiti, many of which are in the process of disappearing from the walls, covered over by other graffiti.
Fun Banksy fact, he didn’t come and do his own graffiti. He merely made the stencils and then sent a team in to do the actual painting. Yamen led the group that did the actually painting on the partition walls. He also showed us his own recreation of the girl with the balloons that he painted on the wall. He offered us a chance to do our own graffiti on the wall. We passed. See notes above about my feelings on graffiti.
It was also interesting to note the area for us to tag had been freshly whitewashed. No doubt the previous group solidarity tags had been painted over so the next group of tourists would have a fresh spot. If we did tag, I felt they wouldn’t be up for long as they were white washed to make way for the next taggers.
Cindi and I drank mint tea prepared by Yamen’s dad, mint procured from a neighboring field. I got a look at the Merecedes Limo, too. Seeing all the dents and dings and bad repair job, I felt fine driving in the Festiva.
Our next tourist stop on our journey through Bethlehem was the Aida Refugee camp. The Aida Camp was a temporary camp built by the UN to house displaced people following the Israeli War for Independence. Most of the residents thought that everything would be straightened out shortly and they would soon be back in their homes. That was over sixty years ago.
Which is why my image of the camp didn’t match the reality. When I think refugee camp, I think acres of tents crowded with humanity. But the reality of the Aida Camp is a poorly constructed town full of narrow alleyways and jury-rigged municipal services. Water pipes are garden hoses run down the sides of buildings. To get the water to flow you turn on an external motor that sits in the alley.
Originally intended to hold 600 refugees, Aida is now home to almost 5000 people in under 4 tenths of a square mile.
While we there, we got to see construction workers adding a third story to one of the small building. I was pretty sure these building weren’t up to earthquake standards. Yamen told us most of the services provided in the camp are done by the residents. Some of the buildings have small shops. We saw one were antique keys from the people’s homes were for sale. There is also a giant keyhole gate with a key atop it that stands as a symbol for the residents dream of one day returning to their original homes.
There are views of the partition wall everywhere in the camp. At one, piles of garbage butt up against the mural covered concrete wall. We passed a charred observation tower that is under constant assault from the Boy’s school’s nearby. Bullet holes in the gate to the school gives testament to how the Israeli army responds to the rock throwing.
I couldn’t leave the camp quickly enough.
After three hours of touring around Bethlehem and hearing about the Palestinians struggle against Israel, we finally made it to Manger Square, across from the Church of the Nativity.
Before Yamen took us to the church, he felt compelled to take us to the local market in the other direction from the church. He reasoned that tour buses never let their tourists cargos come to this section. Along the way, he showed us maps that showed the gradual reduction in Palestinian controlled land. The map showed a predominately green West bank gradually dwindling to a few green isolated squares.
Yamen handed us off to Ambro for the actual tour of the Church of the Nativity. Yamen couldn’t do the tour because he didn’t have the right credentials or something. He would wait for us at our lunch destination which was just off the square. He figured we would only need thirty minutes to get through the church. When I gave him an uncomprehending look he gave us ten more minutes for our tour.
So, Yamen expected us to go through one of the most famous traditional churches in Christendom, the supposed birthplace of God, in just thirty minutes? I don’t think so.
Cindi and I went with Ambro, who was still smoking his cigarette when we were being introduced. Fortunately, he snubbed it out quickly. With Ambro was his friend Vladimir. Why Vladimir was with us I didn’t understand. Later, I was very glad he was with us.
Vladimir was full of knowledge I half heard, being too busy taking pictures. He talked about the half height door we had to duck under to gain entrance to the church.
The Church itself is in full preservation mode. Scaffolding stands all along the nave in order to do work on the wooden ceiling., The limestone columns have been wrapped in plastic to protect them.
Huge panels in the floor sat open to reveal the covered mosaic floor dating from the 4th century when the church was first built. In one opening, you can see the backward Swastika that come from India. Another shows what is possibly the first representation of the Jerusalem Cross.
The altar is a baroque explosion, much loved by the Greek Orthodox Church. Like many churches in the Holy Land, control of the church is under the contentious directions of several religions. In the case of the Church of the Nativity, it’s the Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Armenian Churches who fight for dominance. The altar area has a strong Greek Orthodox feel to it.
Given the chance, Ambro would have told us what every panel over the altar meant. I did process the fact that one picture showed St. Nicholas which makes a lot of sense. Although I didn’t get a good explanation why there was an icon of the illuminati symbol for the all seeing eye at the top in the center of the decorative wall.
One of things I learnt was that in Biblical times, manger didn’t mean wooden structure for horses but probably cave for animal storage. So, the manger where Jesus was born is a cave over which the Church of the Nativity was constructed. It lies underneath the main altar and you can access it from either side.
If you are in large group, you enter from the right. If you are hanging out with Ambro and Vladimir who know the security personal giving access to the manger, you sneak down between large group entrances on the left side. I didn’t realize this until we were standing pretty much alone before the silver star that marks the place in the floor where Jesus was born.
I was snapping away when I noticed Vladimir conferring with the guard. They were holding the next group back so I could photograph unobstructed. Another mystery was why Ambro couldn’t join us underground. But I’ve resolved to take those two guides with me from now on.
Our guides took us next door to the relatively modern church of St. Catherine. We were in a holding pattern while waiting for a group to exit the grotto underneath that Church and hold their services. Vladimir and Ambro arranged with the guard for us to wait. He would let us downstairs during a brief interlude between the mass upstairs and the church closing for the day. Once again thank you guides and your connections.
Underneath the Church of St. Catherine is the cave where St. Jerome spent thirty some years. His big claim to fame was his translation of the bible into Latin known as the Vulgate. He is the patron saint of Encyclopedias. In his little cave still stands the steep narrow staircase he used to access the cave. In the walls, you can see carvings the Crusaders left behind.
Lunch is the time, I believe Yamen lost interest in guiding us and we lost interest in him taking us around Bethlehem. It was like a blind date when you both knew it wasn’t going to work out, but you continued on the date none the less.
Yamen had decided to order for us at his restaurant off manger square to save time. For me, that is a big mistake because I am a very finicky eater. He had mentioned the lamb-beef burgers when Cindi and I had departed with Ambro, but I thought I was going to at least look at the menu before we ordered.
But while we sat there and Yamen had a smoke outside, the food arrived, complete with things I didn’t want on it. So, we got to do the dance about getting the food reordered. Cindi got a strange chicken dish on a bed of onions atop flat bread. It didn’t suit her pallet either.
After lunch we headed to the Milk Grotto. Supposedly drops of the Virgin Mary’s breast milk fell to the floor while she was feeding Jesus causing all the rocks to turn white. People from around the world chip off the white stone and use it for miracle cures. The walls of the office are covered with the letters from people who have experienced the miracle. The chips of the milk are supposed to cure infertility.
While I stopped to take pictures, Cindi and Yamen went ahead. I didn’t see which way they went and got lost trying to find them. When I did find the right grotto, I was underwhelmed by the appearance. The walls didn’t look like natural white stone, merely that they had been whitewashed.
Since we were running out of time on our tour, Yamen gave us three options for the afternoon and we could make two of them. We could go to Mar Saba, Shepherd’s Field or Herodian. I knew we had to go to Mar Saba and the field didn’t sound too interesting so we went to Herodian.
Although we were just going to make a pitstop at Herodian because there wouldn’t be enough time to actually climb it and see Herod’s tomb.
Along the way to Herodian, we talked more about the disconnect between the Palestinians and the Israelis. Yamen pointed out Westbank Settlements that were built illegally inside the 1968 Greenline according to the Oslo accords. You can tell they are Israeli settlements because they don’t have watertanks on their roofs. Israelis get all the water they want while Palestinians have to fill water tanks on their roofs when they get the chance.
He also showed us the square concrete blocks that are the boundary markers that show the line between Israeli and Palestinian controlled zones. Yamen contends the Israeli come in and move the blocks effectively shrinking the Palestinian zones.
We passed roads that only Israelis can use and that bypass the Partition Wall checkpoints. Signs show it is illegal for Israelis to be in some areas. Driving through such contested areas made for a depressing journey.
The trip to Herod’s mountain, Herodian, was short and sweet. Basically, we got out of the car and looked up the mountain. A security guard manning the park yelled at us to move our car. We’ll put on the last of things to go back to see.
Along the way to the monastery at Mar Saba, we stopped for coffee at a road side vendor. Yamen had been threatening to do this the entire day despite our repeated assertions we don’t like coffee. He thought the cardamon they added would make it taste better for our unrefined pallets. It still has coffee in it, right? Then why do you want me to try it?
But I did try it and guess what? It did not convert me.
The entire day remained gloomy as winds blue dust from the Sahara over us to create a grey fog. The gorges around Mar Saba would probably be gorgeous under a bright blue sky, but for us they were just muted brown hills with water from the waste treatment plant running along the bottom.
Mar Saba looked pretty clinging to the cliff edge but we couldn’t get close to it because the monks don’t like visitors, especially if they are female.
A day that had started with great promise viewing millennia old stone jars ended driving back to the partition barrier gate through trash strewn streets.
Now, I’ve been pretty hard on Yamen, but other reviewers of his tours really like him. I’m sure if you had a particular mind set about learning more of the conflict, he would be your guide. But our aim first was to take pictures of interesting things and learn about the Holy Sites in Bethlehem.
I didn’t mind hearing about the conflict from his point of view when we first started, but towards the end I was tired of it and wished we could talk about something else.
Plus, the tour seemed to just be Yamen driving around pursuing his own pleasures. We visited his Dad and got coffee. We had lunch at his restaurant. He talked a lot on the phone setting up other tours. He took smoke breaks guised as points for us to look around. Towards the end he turned on the radio so he could listen to has arab pop songs. And we had another coffee break, so he could get that fix, too. He didn’t seem to focused on what his paying customers would have enjoyed.
In the end, we walked the lengthy barred corridor back through the Partition barrier. Fortunately, it was an easy prison to leave from if you have the right passport. We only had to wait a few minutes to get us a Taxi back to our hotel. Things seemed so much nicer on this side of the wall.
One of the quirks of timing was that Purim and St. Patrick’s day coincided during our tour of Israel. We celebrated Purim the night before so it seemed natural that we should find a pub for St. Patrick’s day. And if you don’t think there would be an Irish Pub in Jerusalem, you are sadly mistaken.
The trek from the YMCA took longer than expected because my map and reality still were in disagreement. We walked up and down the street many times where the pub was supposed to be located but couldn’t find the address number listed for Dublin’s pub. We went in search of another restaurant.
On Ben Yehuda street, one block over from the mysteriously missing Dublin Pub, Purim revelry was still in effect although it was two hours passed sundown when Purim should have ended. People were still in costume and still drunk in the streets performing strange dances.
As we headed for home without finding a nice place to eat, I spotted our destination down a small alley. The place looked closed and the one door was locked. But Irish music blared from a speaker. I figured it must be open somewhere. I asked a guy sitting in a tent near another door. He turned out to be the bouncer and security for Dublin’s. I was searched for weapons and then we were allowed in.
Inside, it looked very pub like right down to the 1980’s cloud of cigarette smoke. If you have guessed my major problem with Israel is smoking, you are correct. What can I say, I’m from California and no one there smokes under pain of death. Even in Ireland they have banned smoking in pubs which I was sure would cause riots.
Although it looked like a pub, it didn’t really have Irish Pub food which was disappointing. Instead they had bad fried American bar food. There were nachos, buffalo wings and chicken crispers. Since it was St. Pats, they had drink specials. If you had a liter of beer and a shot, you could get a free St. Patricks Hat. I don’t drink and Cindi barely gets through a glass of wine nowadays so the light-weights were out of that giveaway.
We called it an early night since we had to get up really early for the Sunrise hike at Masada. We made it back to the Hotel faster than the journey out as the Giant Phallic tower that is the YMCA makes an easy landmark to spot against the Jerusalem skyline.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit